My husband pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay shattered at the bottom, my mother-in-law called my father and said, “Come get your worthless daughter and take her back.” Dad gave her only one warning: “If she has so much as a scratch, your family will answer for it.” They laughed at him because they had absolutely no idea who my father truly was.

The irony was that Dad had never wanted to be anybody special.

He simply knew the value of people who did their work carefully, even when powerful people hoped they would look away.

PART 22

By the second autumn, Dad’s tomatoes had taken over half the garden.

Lily was seven and had decided that she would become a scientist, an artist, and possibly a veterinarian, depending on the day.

I was working more hours at the foundation and had rented a small house six blocks away.

It had a narrow porch, a leaky garden hose, and a bedroom window that caught the evening sun.